


Homecoming

by ChristineTOMP



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristineTOMP/pseuds/ChristineTOMP
Summary: After the events of Daredevil season three, Matt is moving back into his apartment. However, there may be some stuff to get through, both physical and emotional, before home becomes just that.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> What I had in mind was one scene, quick and easy, but I realized this little slice of life story wanted to be longer than one chapter. In fact, I have yet to even get to the scene I had in my head. So, there'll be more. And that's why "prologue" seems like a fitting name for this chapter.
> 
> I'm going by the version of events where Matt never went back to his apartment after being chased out of it in episode five, despite the fact that this means I can't account for where he got his business suit in episode six. 
> 
> There actually is a foundation for blind children in Tibet, Braille Without Borders, founded by Sabriye Tenberken of Germany. And I'm pretty sure there's a documentary about it.

Matt was sitting in the middle of the backseat of a cab with a large duffel bag on his lap. It smelled of Foggy, and vaguely of something else. Beer. At some point in the not too distant past, Foggy must have spilled some on a small patch of the rough fabric. The familiar scent reached Matt on a puff of air, as the bag’s owner squeezed in next to him, putting pressure on the bag in the process.

On Matt’s other side, Karen managed a more elegant maneuver of folding herself into the car, leaning over in his direction, and closing the door behind her. It wasn’t lost on Matt that their tight arrangement could be mistaken for a plot on his friends’ part to trap him. Something about it annoyed some small part of him, but he mostly found it amusing.

“Are we sure we can’t fit another person in? Maybe someone wants a ride!” If there had been room, Matt would have made a gesture to go with his attempted joke.

“Oh, shush,” Karen said, a smile in her voice even as her elbow made a jab at Matt’s rib.

“Buddy, you are the only stray we’re taking home with us today.” Foggy chuckled and gave his – now Matt’s – bag a pat before leaning forward to give the driver the address. 

The sudden jolt of the engine pushed Foggy back against the seat, and gave Matt another puff of stale beer to enjoy.

The rest of the ride was quiet. The way Foggy and Karen were positioned, Matt knew they were looking out their respective windows and not trading concerned glances, for which he was grateful. For his part, his body and mind were fighting a battle over whether he should be more relieved or agitated over going home. Each time he allowed himself to relax a little, his body would tense up. 

***

It had been two days since Father Lantom’s funeral. The three of them had toasted, made plans, and Matt had let it slip that he was considering moving back into his apartment. He wanted to, really, and he knew he had overstayed his welcome at the church. But, there was the small matter of actually getting it done, and this was not Matt’s first encounter with inertia.

Foggy had called the day before to ask about the move. Then, Karen had called asking about the same thing. Apparently, Matt had sounded non-committal enough that Foggy had seen it fit to take action. An hour earlier, he’d shown up with the bag for Matt to put his few things into, and called Karen for her to meet them. Matt hadn’t argued or resisted. He knew it was time.

When they arrived at Matt’s building, there was no discussion about whether they should all go upstairs together. Karen and Foggy had made some kind of silent pact that they would stay with him, no matter what.

“Hey, you’ve got your key?,” Foggy asked.

Matt silently humored him by dangling a keyring with two keys from his outstretched hand. It was the only thing in Matt’s possession that had actually survived the collapse of a building along with him. He’d kept it in a well-hidden pocket on the arm of his suit, that the sisters had still somehow managed to get to, and he hadn’t had to ask Karen for her spare.

“So, how do you feel?” Karen came up behind him, her tone apprehensive. “Are you excited?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. But, let’s do this anyway.” He gave her a reassuring smile, and snapped his cane straight. He had come awfully close to saying something from his standard list of phrases, such as “I’m fine,” but he’d decided not to do that anymore. He was going to try to be more honest about what he felt about things. If only he could figure out what that was more than half the time.

As they moved up the front steps and continued up the staircase, the weight of the duffel bag on Matt’s shoulder, while slight, felt like it might push him down. But there was an undeniable pull at the same time. 

This apartment had been the first and only place he’d had all to himself. And there had been good times here, the kind of good times Stick had told him he wasn’t supposed to have. The memories of Foggy’s laughter, then Karen’s, blended with their _ actual _ laughter, here in the present, as they were joking about something Matt hadn’t been paying attention to. 

It was a different sound that snapped him back to reality though, and he came to a sudden stop just outside his door. “Fran,” Matt whispered, just moments before his neighbor from across the hall peeked into the hallway.

“Why, I’ll be… You’re back!” Fran was, to Matt at least, an unusually tough read. It was possible that her face gave away something to those who could see it, but her heartbeat or tone of voice rarely changed, and her gestures where always minimal. This was the most excited she’d ever sounded about anything. Or was it merely surprise?

“Hi Fran,” all three of them said in unison. When Matt failed to say much of anything beyond that, Karen cleared her voice.

“Oh, yeah. I was, um, taking some time?” Matt didn’t intend for it to sound like a question, but he was bullshitting his way through this exchange after all.

“Right,” Fran said, now back to her usual skeptical and unreadable self. “Well, she’s been around.” Her head jutted forward in what was clearly a nod in Karen’s direction.

“Well, I was uh, taking care of his mail,” Karen was feeling a mix of emotions at having to revisit those moments. “You know, while he was taking some time.”

“_ Riiight _.” Fran wasn’t going to let Matt off the hook. “Well, I sure hope you were able to find yourself off in Tibet or wherever you went.”

“I beg your pardon?” Matt asked, and heard Foggy trying to choke back laughter.

“That’s where all of you hippies and yuppies go to ‘take some time’ isn’t it? Or is it India? I saw something on the television about this kind of thing. Unless...” 

Matt, Karen and Foggy where all waiting with bated breaths for Fran to finish the thought. “Unless you went to, what do they call it now, rehabilitation? Like them celebrities with the drug problems. I bet that’s why all those cops were here! Do you have drugs in there?”

Foggy caught sight of Matt struggling to pick his jaw off the floor, much less say anything coherent in response, and gently pushed him in the direction of the door while turning back to Fran. “Actually, you were right the first time. Matt has been in, um, _Tibet _actually. He was finding himself, um… Oh, working with blind children!”

Foggy was particularly proud of having suddenly thought of that last part, because he could have sworn he’d actually half-slept his way through a documentary about something like that on PBS. Though Foggy figured Matt was eventually going to have to explain why the FBI had raided his apartment.

Thankfully, Matt had finally thought to stick his key in the lock and they all pushed through the door in quick succession while Fran was muttering something that not even Matt could decipher. Karen closed it behind them, before blurting out, “What was that? You really think she bought that?”

“Maybe?” Foggy turned to Matt for support.

“You might be right about there being some project in Tibet, it actually rings a bell, but she didn’t buy that for a second. Oh, and now she thinks I’m an addict! Thanks, Foggy!” Matt meant to sound serious, but he couldn’t hold back the laughter. 

It felt good to laugh. Was he allowed to feel that way? He pushed the thought out of the way. He’d think about it later. There would be time, he’d allow himself that, at least.

“So, now what?” Karen said. “Let’s get you settled in. Where do we start?”

“Actually,” Foggy interrupted, “First, we eat. Who’s up for Thai food? I’ll make a run down to the corner.”

“Sounds good,” Matt said, noticing for the first time how hungry he was. “The usual?”

“Will do!” Foggy saw Karen give her thumb’s up as well. It felt nice, familiar. But could you ever really know with Matt? “Just one question. Is Fran still out there?”

“No,” Matt said, a smile spreading. “You’re safe.”

When Foggy left, there was a silence in his wake. Matt thought of the last time he and Karen had been alone in this place, and the last time he’d been here. What he didn’t know was what had happened to Karen after that. How she’d been confronted with the unsolved disappearance of James Wesley in this very place. 

Now they were both left to privately consider the events of that day. Matt could still smell the traces of the agents and forensics experts who had turned his place upside down. Left it that way too, from the sound of Karen's rapidly beating heart as she entered the living room area ahead of him. 

“Holy shit, Matt.” Karen looked around through the door to the bedroom and found the bedsheets a complete mess with most of Matt’s clothes in a heap on top of it. To her right, on the kitchen counter were most of the contents of his kitchen cabinets.

Matt sighed. “I guess that answers ‘what next?’” It took him a little longer than it had her to gauge the extent of the mess. Scents and sounds took precedent over the awareness of tangible things, but there was no doubt that home wasn’t home just yet.


End file.
